The second half of their conversation in the lab that night was vastly different from the first. John was still toiling away with samples and lab reports and Sherlock was still contemplating molecules and Moriarty.
Molly comes back, her eyes and cheeks both a bit red. Her color is borne out of a cross between frustration and sadness. Four years she has been masquerading as a full-time pathologist and frankly, she was tired of it. She did love her job, it was what she had attended university for, but right now she wanted more.
At the current time, she craves adventure. She wants back the life she had been living, but most of all, she wants her best friend back.
She had seen the slow rotation of stars from up close and with her own eyes. She had run across planets in search of mysteries to be solved and had saved lives at the conclusion of them.
Her Detective doesn't even remember who he is. He was a Time Lord with a TARDIS lying in wait and she had been his traveling companion. He had helped her procure the position at St. Bart's and left her exacting instructions. She was to help him in whatever way she could while allowing herself to keep safe.
The fob watch he had put under her protection was a heavy weight in her pocket. It contained the larger than life bits of his personality and mind he had pulled out in his ploy to solve his latest case.
"Sherlock," Molly murmurs. She sets down the pipette she was using, a battle raging inside her heart and her head.
She tucks a hand into her pocket, palming the fob watch contained within. Pulling it out, she runs the pad of her thumb over the inscription of Gallifreyan text.
Sherlock, sensing she wants to say something more, simply waits. Normally he would most likely not pay any attention, but after her previous assessment of his personality he decides to expend some effort.
His eyes slide right over the watch, the perception filter fully in tact.
"It's not who you are, Sherlock. Who we are," she states. "I mean that this life isn't. You're meant for much more than this."
She reaches out, gripping his wrist. She locks eyes with him. Out of his peripheral vision, he notices the straight hard-pressed line of her mouth and the furrow of her brow.
Cool fingertips unfurl his own and lay the watch just where his phalanges meet his palm.
Having direct contact with it, Sherlock notices the watch for what he assumes is the first time. It is warm to the touch and heavier than he would have anticipated.
He makes no move to open it. He reads in her face-in that downturn of her lips, in that clenching of teeth and the emotion in her eyes-that it is the wrong place and time. Instead, he runs his finger over the face of it, feeling the whirls and lines that make up the indentation.
He does not give it back to her because he is afraid that he will forget. He places it in a pocket and lets his mind work on the mystery of it.
It is late when he returns. He realizes that to complete the puzzle he needs the help of Molly Hooper. Earlier in the evening, when she had really and truly seen him, his mind had grasped onto the concept of her like a drowning man in search of a floatation device. She had always been so loyal and devoted to him and he had never thought to really question how or why.
When she questions what he needs and he replies with a simple "You", she pieces together exactly what he means.
"You're a Time Lord, Sherlock," she replies with no hesitation. She pulls the strap of her striped bag off of her shoulder and lets it fall to the linoleum with a thud. She skirts around him and perches on a stool, leaning against the counter top.
He raises a brow and she delves into an explanation as best as she can. She explains that he was running from an enemy and had changed himself into a human to hide.
She recounts that the enemy he is up against had gone mad after viewing the Time Vortex and fled his home world.
She tries to keep it brief, but it is such an involved and expansive tale that he keeps having to interrupt and even then there are holes she cannot fill. Finally, at the conclusion of it, she sighs. She places her head in her hands and forces the words past the knot in her throat.
"You have to leave this life behind, Sherlock," she peers up at him.
He is still standing, his back straight and tense.
She pauses and allows her eyes to roam across his face while she tries to dredge up courage.
"John is your best friend, but you're going to have to leave him for a time."
"I'm not trying to say this for my own selfish means, although I do miss," she says. "I'm saying this because once you open that watch, I know you'll realize you miss it, too."
His fingers tighten around the watch in his pocket, but he says nothing. He finds he does not really have to.
After John storms out, he remembers the watch in his coat pocket. He takes it out and simply stares at it for a moment and concludes it is the only possible moment to open it, if not the best. He depresses the button on the top and pleads as golden swirls float out to him-pleads to not lose who he is and for his friend to forgive him.
Later after he has been supposedly buried he is in the TARDIS with his faithful companion by his side. He feels guilt. He decides it is an emotion he is not overly fond of. He realizes that while he was a human he hid it away under the guise of it being disadvantageous. Even while human, he felt guilty for Molly having to pretend and now he feels for leaving John behind, even if it turns out to be temporary. He has to work at dismantling the network Moriarty obtained before he attempts anything else. It helps to have Molly helping him just like she has been doing.
He moves around the center console with an instinctual grace acquired a great many years ago.
"I thought I would be different," he throws out, pushing up a lever and checking a screen.
"Different how?" she asks. She stands on the other side against a railing, hand trailing along a support without even realizing it.
"My personality. I thought I would be something or someone I did not know," he says. He pauses and looks at her.
She laughs a little, and it is tinged with a bit of sadness for the circumstances.
"Sherlock," she says.
He remembers that she has always called him that and it had began just after their first meeting. She had not particularly questioned his being called "The Detective", but had instead jokingly asked, "Anything less pretentious?"
He had given her the name "Sherlock" and now she interchanges the two frequently.
"You need only have asked. I could've easily told you that you were much the same," she explains. One hand grips the railing while the other wraps around her waist. "You were colder to me, but I wasn't expecting anything different. It did take me for surprise some of the time and I think the punch of it hurt quite a bit. "
He stops for a moment, hand outreached to press a button. Without much thought, he takes long strides to her and wraps her in his arms.
"I'm sorry for it," he whispers into her hair. He presses a kiss against the strands and inhales the scent of lemon. He wants to explain that he knows he did it to protect her-that he can distinctly remember thinking that as he pulled out the Time Lord aspects of him.
She entwines her arms around his back, under his coat. She shakes her head and burrows in just a little deeper.
"Forgiven," she returns.
They stand there for a long time, while the TARDIS hums and beeps in the background, the lights around them dimmed and soothing.